- ❝ＳＥＢＡＳＴＩＡＮ ＳＡＬＬＩＳ
[nickname: baz // age: eighteen // crush: "what is love? baby dont hurt me"] - [phobia: "dont touch me"] - [tags: stella]
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And so here he was and there all the rest of the school was - a large distance between him and them. Obviously, nothing about him warranted reactions from other people. Well - except for the few that would come to the vending machine for those top row reject snacks. Few were left by now he figured. He didn't even mind the fact that nobody stopped to talk to him where he was since that's just how he was. You tend to avoid the world when you were scared of everyone in it. It got to the point where he couldn't even be near people without his stomach doing weird flips. And he was labeled a creep for many different reasons. He was the one who would stare strangely at kissing couples or those who couldn't keep their hands off each other. All that touching. He didn't understand it and it made him wonder endlessly why they seemed to enjoy it. And when his eyes wandered back over to Stella and that Jonathan kid, he watched the man lay his hand on the girl's back far too affectionately. And Baz ended up staring at it. Staring at the hand and how close it was to the skin beneath her shirt. Automatically, Baz shuddered, felt his mouth go dry, and he was forced to close his eyes.
How long his eyes had remained like that, he would never know. But he wouldn't open them even after the bell rang and he couldn't hear anybody in the halls. His head was still reeling with the way Dalton's fists felt against his flesh. It was all in a day's work though. He didn't expect anything different now that they were back to school. In fact, his only wish was that he'd become even more forgettable since Christmas break got off. That would have been nice. Crap. There was a bell... wasn't there. He knew he'd heard the bell and knew that he knew what the bell meant. But only now did he realized that he'd been avoiding that meaning for quite some time. I should go to class. That should be a thing that gets done soon. With his head back against the lockers, he let it fall to the side where a clock was resting on the far side of the hall. He was already half an hour past the bell. Where all the time had gone, Baz had absolutely no idea. But when his mind was in that stupor being touched left him in, he sort of lost track of everything. So he didn't question time too badly. At this point, going to his first period class was obsolete and that killed him just a little too much.
He was a straight A student not only because his father would literally kill him otherwise but because all the work got his mind off things. His brain helped to distract him from those problems he was too stupidly apathetic to really work on. So, needing something to distract him from all that school and hella fantastically boring lessons he was probably missing - Baz pulled out his sketchbook. One word about his art style? Disturbing. In fact, everything about him was disturbing but his drawings really expressed that side. Weird drawings of eyeballs and completely random scenes involving flesh and all that accompanies it. He drew pictures of hands. So many hands in so many different poses. Everything he was afraid of and interested in was poured into this strange and twisted book. So when he heard a door open and looked up, he licked his lip nervously at whomever it would be. Because whom it was would determine what he would do with the sketchbook. Say it was Dalton - this thing would have already been gone and in his backpack, a secret. But it wasn't that primate or any of his lesser intellectually challenged associates.
Stella. His passive and dead stare followed her through the halls just as quietly as anything else he did. Watching people was another one of his hobbies and anybody in this brain dead school would label his observations as borderline stalking. But that's not how he saw it. He was constantly breaking down people from the background and trying to see what made them integral to society. Fun fact: when Baz wasn't stressing about homework he was pacing his room due to another laborious existential crisis. Because come on, I'm a creep who draws pictures of hands in a notebook. What point could somebody as god awfully useless have in this life. If I die... my body would probably poison the ground instead of fertilize it. Wait... that would be pretty amazing. Like... my own toxic waste spill. He didn't know when he'd stopped watching her from his shadow-like position next to the vending machine. But he had and he'd gone back to detailing the way a hand gripped onto a presumably still beating heart. He was in love with this particular page and he found himself always going back over the dark lines. Shading and re-shading until you could barely tell it wasn't a photograph. And he was so engrossed in the piece, his teeth lightly pulling at his lips in concentration, that when the voice spoke up next to him - Baz nearly had a heart attack.
White face went whiter and his head shot up to look at the girl who'd managed to sneak up on somebody so invisible already. I do the sneaking... He stopped biting his lip and his mouth opened a little, Stella... He wondered if she was really talking to him until he heard the name that people barely ever called him anymore. True, that was because they never remembered it and gave him their own creatively insensitive pet names like dear old Dalton had. It was strange. He was strange. And he was beginning to wonder if she was just as strange for talking to him in the first place. That's not something people did... without the intent to kill or brutally maim. "Are you... are you okay?" His head fell and tilted down to one side of his shoulder - the left one - and he had to do a double take. Eventually, the creep was able to wrap his head around her simple question.
"That... depends," he began slowly, his spindly fingers tapping on his sketchbook which remained open still. He hardly cared if she got scared off by him since the less people that knew or cared, the better, it would seem. "Are you talking about my head or my physical appearance? Because one is far more messed up than the other, I can assure you." His smile was a bit off, as if his darker response was something completely normal. And for him, it was. This was just how he was with people and he didn't have enough motivation to change so that people didn't look at him like he was something strait out of a horror movie. Only when she made a move to sit next to him did his stupid smile fall completely off his face. Wait... What is happening? What am I supposed to do now. You're breaking the rules girl.. He took a deep breath when she was finally sitting, even this close proximity being difficult for him to stomach. God..kill me. It's not you, I swear. A look of displaced guilt crossed his features as he slid just a couple more inches away from her. He supposed his intuition hadn't been off when he decided that she was much more interesting than she seemed on the outside. The mere fact that she had even noticed him against the wall and said something clarified this. "I feel so honored. Offering the pasty white nobody some of your chex mix," his voice was hollow, monotone, and his head fell limply to the side she sat so he could look at her from this distance. You're a lot different up close. Is that creepy? Probably....... Jesus.
His cold gaze eventually landed on the bag she held out, unfortunately connected to a very feminine wrist. He needed one of those sticks that picked up trash but all he had was hands - useless. So with a hidden intake of breath he reached and slipped his hand into the bag with a surgeon's accuracy. Earth to Baz? Yeah, if there's anything else you can do to scare this girl off... can you get it over with? It's getting hard to watch. His amusing thoughts to himself in his head went away as soon as he had a tiny handful of chex mix in his own little safety bubble. "I'm struggling with the dilemma of whether or not I should ask for your name like I didn't know it already. You'd be surprised at how many people don't appreciate knowing that fact that I've bothered learning their names.... even though they sit right next to me... in class." His pointed question was directed to her especially since she was one of those people that sat next to him. He even had her in a couple other periods though they weren't exactly next door neighbors. Still, his little head was reeling with this turn of events and he couldn't tell if he should be thrilled or scared out of his mind.
How long his eyes had remained like that, he would never know. But he wouldn't open them even after the bell rang and he couldn't hear anybody in the halls. His head was still reeling with the way Dalton's fists felt against his flesh. It was all in a day's work though. He didn't expect anything different now that they were back to school. In fact, his only wish was that he'd become even more forgettable since Christmas break got off. That would have been nice. Crap. There was a bell... wasn't there. He knew he'd heard the bell and knew that he knew what the bell meant. But only now did he realized that he'd been avoiding that meaning for quite some time. I should go to class. That should be a thing that gets done soon. With his head back against the lockers, he let it fall to the side where a clock was resting on the far side of the hall. He was already half an hour past the bell. Where all the time had gone, Baz had absolutely no idea. But when his mind was in that stupor being touched left him in, he sort of lost track of everything. So he didn't question time too badly. At this point, going to his first period class was obsolete and that killed him just a little too much.
He was a straight A student not only because his father would literally kill him otherwise but because all the work got his mind off things. His brain helped to distract him from those problems he was too stupidly apathetic to really work on. So, needing something to distract him from all that school and hella fantastically boring lessons he was probably missing - Baz pulled out his sketchbook. One word about his art style? Disturbing. In fact, everything about him was disturbing but his drawings really expressed that side. Weird drawings of eyeballs and completely random scenes involving flesh and all that accompanies it. He drew pictures of hands. So many hands in so many different poses. Everything he was afraid of and interested in was poured into this strange and twisted book. So when he heard a door open and looked up, he licked his lip nervously at whomever it would be. Because whom it was would determine what he would do with the sketchbook. Say it was Dalton - this thing would have already been gone and in his backpack, a secret. But it wasn't that primate or any of his lesser intellectually challenged associates.
Stella. His passive and dead stare followed her through the halls just as quietly as anything else he did. Watching people was another one of his hobbies and anybody in this brain dead school would label his observations as borderline stalking. But that's not how he saw it. He was constantly breaking down people from the background and trying to see what made them integral to society. Fun fact: when Baz wasn't stressing about homework he was pacing his room due to another laborious existential crisis. Because come on, I'm a creep who draws pictures of hands in a notebook. What point could somebody as god awfully useless have in this life. If I die... my body would probably poison the ground instead of fertilize it. Wait... that would be pretty amazing. Like... my own toxic waste spill. He didn't know when he'd stopped watching her from his shadow-like position next to the vending machine. But he had and he'd gone back to detailing the way a hand gripped onto a presumably still beating heart. He was in love with this particular page and he found himself always going back over the dark lines. Shading and re-shading until you could barely tell it wasn't a photograph. And he was so engrossed in the piece, his teeth lightly pulling at his lips in concentration, that when the voice spoke up next to him - Baz nearly had a heart attack.
White face went whiter and his head shot up to look at the girl who'd managed to sneak up on somebody so invisible already. I do the sneaking... He stopped biting his lip and his mouth opened a little, Stella... He wondered if she was really talking to him until he heard the name that people barely ever called him anymore. True, that was because they never remembered it and gave him their own creatively insensitive pet names like dear old Dalton had. It was strange. He was strange. And he was beginning to wonder if she was just as strange for talking to him in the first place. That's not something people did... without the intent to kill or brutally maim. "Are you... are you okay?" His head fell and tilted down to one side of his shoulder - the left one - and he had to do a double take. Eventually, the creep was able to wrap his head around her simple question.
"That... depends," he began slowly, his spindly fingers tapping on his sketchbook which remained open still. He hardly cared if she got scared off by him since the less people that knew or cared, the better, it would seem. "Are you talking about my head or my physical appearance? Because one is far more messed up than the other, I can assure you." His smile was a bit off, as if his darker response was something completely normal. And for him, it was. This was just how he was with people and he didn't have enough motivation to change so that people didn't look at him like he was something strait out of a horror movie. Only when she made a move to sit next to him did his stupid smile fall completely off his face. Wait... What is happening? What am I supposed to do now. You're breaking the rules girl.. He took a deep breath when she was finally sitting, even this close proximity being difficult for him to stomach. God..kill me. It's not you, I swear. A look of displaced guilt crossed his features as he slid just a couple more inches away from her. He supposed his intuition hadn't been off when he decided that she was much more interesting than she seemed on the outside. The mere fact that she had even noticed him against the wall and said something clarified this. "I feel so honored. Offering the pasty white nobody some of your chex mix," his voice was hollow, monotone, and his head fell limply to the side she sat so he could look at her from this distance. You're a lot different up close. Is that creepy? Probably....... Jesus.
His cold gaze eventually landed on the bag she held out, unfortunately connected to a very feminine wrist. He needed one of those sticks that picked up trash but all he had was hands - useless. So with a hidden intake of breath he reached and slipped his hand into the bag with a surgeon's accuracy. Earth to Baz? Yeah, if there's anything else you can do to scare this girl off... can you get it over with? It's getting hard to watch. His amusing thoughts to himself in his head went away as soon as he had a tiny handful of chex mix in his own little safety bubble. "I'm struggling with the dilemma of whether or not I should ask for your name like I didn't know it already. You'd be surprised at how many people don't appreciate knowing that fact that I've bothered learning their names.... even though they sit right next to me... in class." His pointed question was directed to her especially since she was one of those people that sat next to him. He even had her in a couple other periods though they weren't exactly next door neighbors. Still, his little head was reeling with this turn of events and he couldn't tell if he should be thrilled or scared out of his mind.
